


two strangers in the bright lights

by Claudia_flies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers Family, Christmas Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 08:09:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claudia_flies/pseuds/Claudia_flies
Summary: It really is an accident. Steve wouldn’t even call it a slip of the tongue, because what he said and the way it was heard were two different things.





	two strangers in the bright lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cryo_Bucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryo_Bucky/gifts).



> Written for the 'Natasha Knows If You've Been Bad or Good' Secret Santa exchange. I hope I hit at least some things from the wishlist :)
> 
> Beta'd by Zilia.
> 
> Title from The Revivalists

 

 

**December 1**

 

It really is an accident. Steve wouldn’t even call it a slip of the tongue, because what he said and the way it was heard were two different things.

He blames it squarely on Natasha, who mid-sparring decides to suggest, “you know Eloise from the PR team, she’d be totally up for being your date for the Christmas party,” while trying to get out of a headlock.

It’s not the first time this topic’s come up, probably not even the hundredth time.

“Oh come on, Nat, not this thing again,” Steve mutters, letting her go as she taps the mat.

She rolls up as gracefully as ever, even her messed-up hair looking deliberate.

“I’m just looking out for you. This lonely life is not a good look, Steve. We all worry.”

“I’m not alone!” Steve exclaims, spreading his hands out like he’s trying to encompass all of the Tower and everyone in it.

“Steve –,” Natasha sighs, but Steve doesn’t let her finish.

“No, really. With Bucky being back, well, it’s –.” He doesn’t even know how to explain it, how to put into words what it means. How he just doesn’t have the interest to date, not right now. He tries to make a vague hand gesture instead of a number of poorly chosen words he could say and not mean.

He really should have tried to explain more. Even poorly.

Because, “Oohhh,” is all Natasha says, and unfortunately for him, Steve doesn’t read too much into it. He’s just grateful she’s dropped the topic, and they get back into sparring. She wins the next round with ease.

It’s not until after dinner when Tony slaps him on the back and says, “I’m happy for you and the T-1000. Must have been the love story of the century. Jesus. Did Howard know?”

Steve looks at him uncomprehendingly, sneaking a peek at Bucky, who is still mechanically finishing his mashed potatoes at the table. Steve doesn’t say anything, but Tony doesn’t seem to need an answer of any kind; he just winks and heads to get another drink.

And it just gets worse from there. So much worse.

 

 

**December 3**

 

Steve hadn’t really thought anything of those encounters with Tony or Natasha, not in any detail anyway, and that’s on him. It’s only two days later, when Pepper approaches them both in the common room while Steve’s contemplating where to order lunch from, a stack of takeaway menus spread over the bar in front of them, and Bucky doesn't seem that interested in any of them.

“Steve, Bucky, I’m so happy for both of you,” she beams as she walks over. “Tony told me and I just wanted to let you know if that if there’s a special date or an anniversary for you, I’ll get you a reservation in any restaurant in town, our treat.”

“Uh,” is all Steve can muster, and Bucky’s looking at her with an inscrutable expression, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary, so Pepper carries on with a smile.

“I know it must be odd, the way things have changed, but you really don’t have to hide from us. Everyone’s very happy and supportive of you.”

It’s then when the penny really drops, and Steve is going to deny everything, he _is_ , but there’s a moment, just a brief moment, when his brain just goes _there_. It lets him imagine it being true. All those hopes and wishes and daydreams that he’d pushed into a box and hidden in the deepest recesses of his brain. Ever since that fevered summer when he turned thirteen and started looking at Bucky differently.

Some of it must show on his face, because Pepper smiles gently and touches his arm, and then pulls him into a hug. She doesn’t say anything.

Steve doesn’t say anything either.

When she lets Steve go, she turns to Bucky and asks, “may I give you a hug too?”

Bucky nods cautiously and opens his arms. He hugs her like she’s breakable and like he doesn’t really know how to anymore, and it breaks Steve’s heart all over again. After a minute, Bucky lets her go with a small smile, and Steve still _doesn’t say anything_.

She pulls out a menu for a Thai place from the pile. “I think I’m going to order from here today, do you want something as well?”

They both choose several dishes and Pepper makes the call while Steve just stands there, _not saying anything_.

Once she’s finished on the phone and told the front desk where to deliver specific dishes, she heads back to her office with a smile and a, “it’ll be great to have you both at the party together this year!”

Steve nods mechanically and his mouth just doesn’t make the words to explain how she’s wrong, how they all have the wrong idea. They both stand there in silence as the elevator doors close behind her.

Eventually, Bucky speaks, his voice gravelly like he hasn’t spoken in a long time. He hasn’t, not since this morning. Not that Steve is counting.

“Why did she say that? Why did she hug us?”

“Uh, it’s just something –”

Steve’s hand finds its way to the back of his neck, rubbing the skin there awkwardly.

“Why would they think that?” Bucky asks, and he’s looking at Steve with a frown, and then suddenly his face changes and he’s looking at Steve with wide, surprised eyes, like he suddenly knows exactly what’s going on.

“Because I said something and Natasha drew the wrong conclusion,” Steve eventually admits with a sigh. “I can tell them it’s not true. Take the date Natasha was pestering me about.”

“She wanted to ‘set you up’?”

Steve can almost hear the air quotes around the term, the way Bucky says it, like it’s an alien word he doesn’t really know the meaning of. Steve shrugs.

“You know how she is, trying to help in her own way. I’ll tell her it was a mistake. That she was wrong to think that,”

Maybe he can’t quite control his voice, can’t quite make it sound upbeat and like a joke, because Bucky lunges at him, grabbing ahold of his arm before he can walk away.

“No! Don’t!”

Steve stops mid-step, feeling Bucky’s hand burning into his skin where he’s touching Steve on his bicep even through the fabric of his shirt.

“Uh, okay?”

“You don’t have to, we can just pretend. Like deep cover.”

Bucky makes a strange, clawing gesture with his hand that’s not holding Steve.

“Okay, sure,” Steve finds himself agreeing, nodding while Bucky’s stance relaxes.

They sit in their apartment that evening eating all of the Thai food and things are normal, and Steve finds himself relaxing. It’ll be okay, they can just pretend for the party and he’ll let everyone know the truth after the holidays are over.

 

 

**December 4**

 

Steve didn’t really give much thought to what ‘deep cover’ would mean to the Winter Soldier until all of Bucky’s things start to migrate into his room the next day.

He wakes up to Bucky moving around his room, opening drawers and the double doors of the wardrobe to put away his things. He doesn’t really have much, a few clothing items as far as Steve can see, and some toiletries Pepper had given him to try and encourage what she called ‘self-care’.

“What’s – what are you– ?” he tries, groggy and grateful that he didn’t sleep in the buff last night.

JARVIS, Bucky signs and points upward with a meaningful look, and then carefully lays out his toiletries in the bathroom.

“You think Jarvis is going to tell on us?” Steve asks stupidly, still half-buried in his sheets.

Bucky nods, and as if he can tell, Jarvis clears his electronic throat. “I do not report on the private matters of individuals unless there is a security threat, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky makes another hand signal that clearly translates as ‘you see!’, and continues to unpack his meager selection of clothing into Steve’s closet. After a minute of watching Bucky arrange their t-shirts together, Steve shrugs and goes back to sleep.

It’s kinda nice, dozing while listening to Bucky move around the room and mutter about how untidy Steve is. If it wasn’t for the steady beat of his heart and the lack of pain while drawing in each breath, Steve would think it was 1936 and Bucky’d just moved into their cold-water walk-up.

Bucky must have eventually left, because suddenly it’s an hour later according to the alarm clock on the nightstand, and he’s kicking Steve out of bed with a surprisingly upbeat shout of “breakfast!”

Steve grumbles and complains but eventually rolls out of bed and heads to the kitchen while pulling on an old pair of sweatpants. There’s eggs and sausages and bacon and fresh bread on the table. A carafe of orange juice and cups of steaming coffee, and Bucky standing next to the table with an expectant look on his face.

“Whoa, this looks amazing!” Steve grins at the cornucopia laid out in front of him.

It seems to be the right thing to say because Bucky actually smiles, and Steve wants to freeze the moment in time. Hold it and keep it like a fly trapped in amber, but he can’t and Bucky moves, straightening the knives and forks laid on the table.

“People who are dating make food for each other. I read that on the internet,” he says, and there’s a catch in his voice that Steve can’t read, so he places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and just says, “it’s perfect.”

Bucky smiles again, and this time Steve hopes his face isn’t reflecting quite how heartbreaking it all is to him.

They eat and the day passes in relative normality. They train and eat some more and Steve spends a few hours in the command center looking through the latest reports from Maria’s team, who are out in the field. Bucky disappears somewhere in the Tower. Most likely to Tony’s workshop where he’s been seen tinkering on the arm.

Bucky hasn’t let Tony do any work on it yet, but has begrudgingly allowed him to watch while he cleans the joints. Pepper has remarked on a few occasions how it’s so much like catching Tony watching porn in his office, which Steve chooses not to think about too deeply.

That normality comes to a sudden stop in the evening when Steve finds himself brushing his teeth next to Bucky in the his-and-hers sinks in his bathroom, or his-and-his, in this case.

It could be so ordinary, Bucky wearing a faded StarkTech t-shirt and flannel pants. Steve in a pair of boxers and old army t-shirt. Both of them brushing and spitting into the sinks like it’s something they do every day, _something normal_ , Steve’s traitorous brain whispers.

He tries to shove those thoughts away. It’s just pretend. Fake. He shakes his head and closes the door while he takes a piss. He just has to keep his head in the game, and not let all those daydreams run riot.

How hard can that be?

It proves to be pretty damn hard, because Bucky’s already crawled under the sheets when Steve comes out of the bathroom and turns off the light. He’s a soft lump under the covers with just a tuft of dark hair and a pair of grey eyes visible among the pillows.

At least the king bed Tony had insisted upon has enough space for both of them. It’s strange, just lying there, listening to Bucky’s breathing less than a foot away from him. Feeling his body heat spread under the covers, mingling with Steve’s own. The way his breath’s calm and even, the way he’s rustling and moving and snuggling into the pillows like he’s actually comfortable sleeping next to Steve.

It’s all that he’s wanted since that awful and wonderful moment on the freeway. Since he knew that there was a Bucky to bring home. He pulls his own pillow against his chest and buries his face into it, just so that Bucky can’t hear the hitch in his breathing, can’t see the wetness in his eyes even in the dark.

 

 

**December 8**

 

“We should go to a coffee,” Bucky says out of nowhere on a Saturday.

“What?”

Steve looks up from his tablet, and Bucky is standing in the middle of the living room, already wearing his parka and shoes.

“This is what people do when they date. They go to a coffee.”

Grammatically not quite accurate, but it’s there in spirit, Steve has to admit.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” he concedes, putting down his tablet and getting up from the couch, while Bucky explains. “We need to blend in properly. Otherwise, they will start to suspect and investigate and then they’ll kill you.”

“I don’t think that our friends would kill me even if they found out that we aren’t really dating, Buck,” Steve tries, but can’t help the thought of Natasha going after the both of them for all the rejected dates Steve’s left her with.

“SHHHH!” Bucky shushes him, staring meaningfully toward the ceiling.

“Okay, okay, we can go for a coffee,” Steve laughs, pulling his coat and shoes from the hallway closet.

It's a nice afternoon, with the sun finally peeking from behind the ominous clouds that have been dumping snow upon the city for the past few days. Bucky’s pulled on a hat, and gloves, and zipped his thick parka all the way to his chin in the elevator because the arctic winds have suddenly decided to grace New York with their presence and everything is frozen even with the sunshine.

Steve hopes that his own hat and scarf are enough to disguise him, at least today, because Bucky is insisting that they hold hands. _The whole time_. Because there are cameras. In the traffic lights. And in shops. And on people’s phones. Some of those phones are StarkTech.

Bucky is very thorough in his undercover work.

That’s how they end up in the Starbucks two blocks down from the Tower. Holding hands. Bucky won’t even let go when he orders a venti pumpkin spice latte with extra pumpkin spice.

It’s not that Steve minds, it’s actually really nice, and it’s not like he hasn’t ever thought about _this_. It was just something that he’d had to push to the back of his mind, lock up in a box and never bring up. Dating wasn’t something men did with each other, either. Of course, people would meet and fuck, but it wasn’t like what Bucky did with girls. Not going out on the town, to show off, to be seen.

Steve struggles to think of how this would be anything else, sitting squashed together by the window, both of them with those happy red Christmas cups filled with a tooth-achingly sweet drink and holding hands. Out there, exposed so that everyone can see.

Bucky sees another couple two tables down from them sharing a pastry, and with a gleam in his eyes goes back up to the counter and buys Steve a cookie shaped like a Christmas tree. It tastes like cardboard, but Steve doesn't care. He eats the cookies and smiles at Bucky across the table.

Ultimately the hats and scarves and coats were not enough, and several pictures of them holding hands in Starbucks end up trending on Twitter with the hashtag #capsnewsqueeze, and a Fox News anchor has an aneurysm live on air.

Anjelica, the head of Stark Industries PR, sends out a short press release on respecting the privacy of all the Avengers and a more private briefing to several news outlets and tech companies to stay out of the Avengers’ lives under pain of having their access to any Avengers-related press events revoked.

Most of them seem to fall into line in a matter of hours.

Bucky, on the other hand, seems exorbitantly happy about having convinced half of the western hemisphere of their romance, and insist on walking out of the PR floor still holding Steve’s hand.

Steve, on the other hand, decides to ignore the whole shebang, because as soon as they get home Bucky’s setting up several bowls of popcorn on the living room coffee table and queuing up the first Lord of the Rings movie on the big TV for them to watch.

“Movie night is a traditional date,” he says and Steve more than agrees, pulling Bucky to his side and placing a bowl of popcorn on their laps.

 

 

**December 9**

 

Steve finds the tablet discarded among the multitude of cushions on the couch while waiting for their new French press to finish brewing, and as soon as he touches the screen, it opens on a web page titled ‘ _10 Cute Holiday Winter Dates To Go On With Your Boyfriend’_ written in an obnoxiously cutesy script.

The first one on the list is ice skating, and the next one is decorating the tree together. Each bullet point is accompanied by a cheap stock photo and some inane text about why this particular date is suitable for a cute winter romance.

Gently, Steve closes the tablet and carefully places it back where he found it.

He pours the coffee into two matching mugs and carries them into the still-dark bedroom. Bucky mumbles something resembling a “thank you” from underneath several pillows and most of the covers as Steve places the steaming cup on his bedside table.

Steve smiles and climbs back into the bed, sitting up against the headboard with his coffee and a book.

It’s probably the most perfect Sunday morning he’s had in a lifetime.

 

 

**December 13**

 

“There’s a tree farm on Long Island,” Bucky says without preamble over breakfast a few days later.

Steve nods with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. It’s not like he hasn’t expected this one. If he’s totally honest with himself, he was disappointed all of Sunday when Bucky made no date suggestions from the list on the tablet. He’d thought that ice skating at the Rockefeller Center is a classic, and also very romantic.

“We need to go there for a date,” Bucky continues with a look of absolute determination like he’s the one who needs to convince Steve. “It says so on the internet.”

“Yeah, we can go and get a tree,” Steve nods easily, already planning the route in his head.

The route that he’s already planned in his head several times. And checked on google maps. Twice.

Bucky gives him a happy nod and starts shoveling eggs into his mouth like they’re going out of business. Steve’s quietly happy to see that at least that particular habit hasn't changed in seventy years.

After breakfast, Steve acquires a car with a roof rack from the motor pool, dodging Tony’s lament about poor, neglected Manhattan trees not being good enough for them, and the disgusting romance of picking up a Christmas tree together. Bucky just seems gleeful at all the romance talk and how well their cover is working.

Steve has to agree; no one has suggested that they find a date for him for Christmas.

The farm isn’t that busy on a Thursday morning, and they have plenty of time to walk between the rows and rows of trees trying to find the perfect one. Bucky touches each of the firs they pass, feeling the soft needles and sometimes leaning in to smell the piney scent.

There are already several perfectly shaped and immaculately decorated trees in the common areas of the Tower, but Steve has to admit that this feels more special than just coming home one day to find a perfectly, if impersonally, decorated tree in their living room.

The tree that Bucky eventually picks is fat and a lot taller than Steve, and it leans just a tad to the left. After much swearing and squatting and shoving of the branches, they manage to get the borrowed saw into position and cut down the tree. Steve hears Bucky muttering, “should’ve taken Stark up on that offer of an extendable robot arm,” when the saw gets stuck halfway through the trunk.

Back at the hut, they’re supplied with cups of hot cocoa by the owner while Steve straps the tree to the roof of the car. He pays the guy while Bucky insists on also getting a ridiculously large wreath as well as the tree, even though Steve does agree that it will look very nice on the apartment door.

On the way back, Bucky sips his hot chocolate and hums along to a Christmas song playing on the radio. It’s one of the modern ones Steve doesn’t recognize, but Bucky’s smiling and looking out into the snowy landscape while he sings under his breath. He looks happier than he has since, well, since before the war. Steve hasn’t seen that smile in such a long time that he nearly misses their exit because he can’t keep his eyes on the road. JARVIS, who is operating as their GPS, is kind enough to not say anything.

Back at the Tower, someone, probably Pepper, has arranged for piles and piles of boxed-up Christmas ornaments and lights and decorations to appear in their living room. They’re nothing like the ones Steve and Bucky and their families used to have, but that feels right too. It’s another time, a different time, and for once Steve doesn't mind the distinction.

Bucky inspects each ornament carefully, like he thinks it might be a bomb or a listening device, but eventually, all of them end up on the tree. It looks nothing like the carefully manicured and designed trees out in the public places of the Tower, but Steve thinks it’s perfect.

In the evening, they look at the blinking lights in the darkness of the living room and Steve can’t help but pull Bucky to his side, who in turn slides an arm around Steve’s waist with ease. Steve doesn’t even mind that Bucky is only probably doing it for their cover, in case JARVIS or even someone else sees them. Bucky is dedicated to his craft, and that’s something Steve loves about him too.

 

 

**December 18**

 

Steve jolts awake in the early hours of the morning.

Bucky’s screaming in animal panic, pushing and twisting in the sheets like he’s trying to escape. His breath harsh and loud, and Steve can feel the wetness in the sheets where he’s sweated through the covers.

“Buck –, Bucky,” he murmurs, still half-asleep, reaching out to touch Bucky’s heaving shoulder, and only barely avoiding a hit from the metal arm as Bucky fully twists in the sheets and lashes out.

The motions seems to rouse him though, as his eyes blink open and he asks “Steve?” with so much disbelieving hope that Steve has to touch him, placing a gentle hand on his sweaty cheek.

“Hey, Buck, it’s me.”

“Steve?” he asks again, reaching out with a trembling hand, and Steve stops overthinking things and just pulls him in.

The sheets and covers get kicked and pushed away as Steve hoists Bucky against his chest, running his hands over the soaking wet back of Bucky’s t-shirt and over the back of his neck.

“It’s alright, I’m here. You’re alright.”

It’s probably a lie, Bucky isn’t alright, and what’s happened to him will never be alright, but he’s here now. With Steve, safe in bed in the Tower. Bucky breathes against him, wet and harsh like he’s trying to stop himself from crying. Fingers twisting into the sides of Steve’s shirt, the whirrs and clicks of the metal arm surprisingly loud in the quiet of the room.

“Anything you need Buck, just let me –”

Steve doesn’t get the words out before Bucky’s arching up and slotting his mouth against Steve’s, kissing him soft and fevered.

Steve can’t help but kiss back, mostly out of surprise at first. Bucky’s mouth tastes sour from sleep, but Steve doesn’t mind. His lips chapped and tongue wet as it pushes against Steve’s mouth. They roll into each other, impatient suddenly as the kisses turn heated and deep.

Steve can feel Bucky’s cock, the length of it pressed against his leg, hot and hard between them. He’s hard too all of a sudden, from sleep and from those long, slow kisses. He grabs at Bucky’s back, at his hip, almost drunk and so elated from the closeness and refusing to think of anything beyond the closed circle of their bodies, the hot, humid space between them.

Bucky arches against him, pressing his cock into Steve’s hip, seeking friction, and Steve responds. Grabbing Bucky’s ass and bringing him even closer, pulling his thigh between Steve’s legs so that he can push against Bucky’s body too.

It’s slow and easy, finding that rhythm as they grind against each other, neither of them willing to stop kissing, breathing into each other's mouths like they’re both starved.

Bucky sneaks a hand between their bodies and squeezes Steve’s cock through his briefs, and Steve can’t stop the helpless little moan that escapes right into Bucky’s mouth. He can feel Bucky smiling, never breaking the kiss. Never breaking that connection between them.

It doesn’t take either of them long to push down each other’s boxers and briefs and get their hands on their cocks. Bucky’s hard and so wet at the tip. It’s not so different from touching himself, the angle’s just different, but in the dark, warm comfort of their bed Steve doesn’t feel any nerves, just pleasure from the tiny sighs Bucky lets out each time Steve pulls and twist on the upstroke.

Bucky’s touching him too. Hesitant at first, his fingers gentler like he’s afraid of hurting, until Steve pushes into his hand, begs “harder, tighter,” against Bucky’s mouth.

They kiss and pant and fuck each other’s closed fists. Bucky buries his face into Steve’s neck as he comes, thick wet spurts over Steve’s fingers. Steve kisses the sweaty slope of his neck, tasting the salt and earthy musk, and Bucky’s hand squeezes him tight and Steve comes too, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lip to try and hold all the noises inside.

Bucky cleans them up in the dark with a discarded pair of boxers and snuggles against Steve’s side. He’s asleep in less than a minute, his breathing deepening and slowly turning into quiet snores.

Steve stays up for a while, wanting to hoard up every moment to memory just in case this is his only chance. The weight of Bucky against him, the sour and musky smell of his sleep, the way the metal arm feels against his chest, the smooth plates equally strange and achingly familiar under his fingers.

He must eventually fall asleep, because he wakes up to light streaming into the room from the barely parted curtains and Bucky shuffling against him. He tries to think of something to say, but before his brain is ready to form words of any kind, Bucky presses a soft kiss against his chest and says “good morning,” and rolls out of bed, heading to the bathroom before Steve has a chance to reply.

Steve tries to talk about it over breakfast. He really does, but Bucky just turns to him and asks “isn’t that what people who are dating do?”

“Yeah, I guess, but –,” and Steve doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. _But we’re not really dating. But it’s not real. But are you sure about this? About me?_ Because none of those are things he really wants to say, wants to give shape to.

“Then we can keep doing it?”

Bucky sounds so hopeful that Steve swallows every objection he has, every single thought that calls him selfish and greedy for taking this from Bucky under false pretenses.

“Yeah, of course we can,” he says instead, helpless in the face of Bucky’s smile.

 

 

**December 21**

 

The Friday evening Christmas party is a private event just for the Avengers and their significant others and friends. Steve knows that Tony and Pepper had hosted a Stark Industries party at private members club earlier in the week, but this one is just for the team.

Steve’s in the bedroom pulling on a t-shirt when Bucky throws something soft and red at his face. When he unrolls the fabric, it turns out to be a red sweater with a picture of an ice skating polar bear, its snout strangely angled to the side.

When Steve turns around, Bucky’s standing in the doorway wearing a sweater in a slightly darker maroon with a mirror image of the same polar bear. Actually, not quite the same: the bear in Bucky’s sweater is wearing ear muffs, while Steve’s bear has a bobble hat.

“Put it on,” Bucky motions, and Steve does.

The fabric feels nice and soft, and the fit isn’t even that bad. Bucky comes to stand next to him and pulls Steve to his side, facing the mirror. When they stand next to each other like that it looks like the polar bears are kissing. It’s kind of sweet even, but Steve does wonder where Bucky’s gotten them at such late notice for the party.

“Wait, did you buy these before Tony decided it was an ugly Christmas sweater party?”

The group text had only gone out two days before.

Bucky just gives Steve a mulish look and says, “a good operative is always prepared for all eventualities.”

“So you bought these before,” Steve laughs, pulling Bucky even closer to his side so that it looks like the bears’ faces are smushed together.

“Maybe,” Bucky says defiantly, but he’s smiling too.

“Well, I’m pretty sure we’re gonna win then!”

Steve’s confidence is knocked slightly when they walk into the common room bar and he sees Natasha and Clint. They’re both wearing matching dark-navy sweaters with snowflakes and baubles and tiny Christmas trees. Natasha’s sweater has a picture of a Santa wearing sunglasses and text that reads ‘Where’s my HOs at?!’ Clint’s sweater just has the word ‘HO’ in cat-sized letters.

“We've got some stiff competition I see!” Clint bellows across the room and waves his beer in the air.

Tony and Pepper arrive in extremely stylish, matching navy and white sweaters, which were clearly chosen by Pepper. Tony, in a clear act of rebellion, has wrapped a string of lights around his neck and made them blink and sway in a dizzying pattern.

Both Bruce and Dr. Cho have clearly ignored the group text about sweaters and arrive in perfectly normal clothing. Tony boos as they go by and Bruce gives him the finger while picking up a beer from the bar.

Sam, clearly embracing the theme, wears a sweater with Santa riding a tyrannosaurus rex that actually gets a round of applause when he enters. Not long after Thor arrives, sans sweater, with Jane, who is wearing a lovely, knitted red and white one which garners a lot of compliments, and Jane admits that she had no idea there was a theme.

Wanda is wearing all black, because she is boycotting the entire holiday, which she happily tells anyone who questions her sartorial choices, while Pietro is proudly showing off his sweater that has integrated Christmas lights. Tony looks extremely jealous, and keeps asking him to swap.

Bucky preens every time someone compliments them on the sweaters, and Steve can’t help but keep pulling Bucky to his side as frequently as possible to demonstrate the effectiveness of the sweaters. He only manages to get on the wrong side of Bucky twice and make it look like the bears are skating away from each other, which causes a chorus of sad aww’s from the crowd.

They do have some stiff competition from Natasha and Clint, and also later from Sam and Maria, who arrives late, looking harassed and also wearing a Christmas sweater with a dinosaur on it, in the form of a sad t-rex trying to place a star on a Christmas tree. Sam wastes no time in telling her how they should now enter the couple’s category. After a few beers, Maria doesn’t seem too opposed to the idea.

They eat and drink, and Steve feels almost drunk from Bucky’s constant closeness. There isn’t a moment where he isn’t within arm’s reach, just so that they can show off their sweaters.

Eventually, Bucky wanders off to find more of the tiny sausage rolls and miniature hamburgers. Steve heads to the balcony, hoping that Bucky can find him later and they can look out at the lights of New York together. It’ll be romantic. One of the date suggestions had been booking a table at an exclusive rooftop bar.

The air is crisp and cold out, but it feels nice after the heat of the room. Steve looks out into the dark horizon until he feels someone stepping next to him, but it’s not Bucky. Natasha leans on the railing next to him, the lights of New York City glittering below them.

“You look happy, Steve,” she says, smiling. “It’s a good look on you.”

Steve doesn’t really know what to say. He wonders if Natasha can see that it’s all fake. That it’s just pretending, just something stupid Steve did to avoid getting hassled about dates.

“He looks happy too,” she continues, like she’s totally unaware of the turmoil in him.

Steve looks through the glass doors to where Bucky is standing next to Pepper, picking up small gingerbread reindeers off the giant gingerbread diorama and eating them whole while she looks on and laughs.

And Natasha is right. Bucky does look happy, happier than he’s been since coming in from his year-long hunt for every single HYDRA operative who had a hand in the Winter Soldier program. Since he shipped out. Since he got the draft that he told no one about. Pretended to sign up.

There he is, standing in Stark Tower, wearing a silly Christmas sweater, surrounded by Steve’s friends, _his_ friends, eating cookies, and it’s such a jarring change that Steve hasn’t even had time to wrap his head around it. It winds him, the realization that Bucky’s happy, that he’s _home_.

Natasha just touches his shoulder, like she knows. Like she recognizes those feelings, that sense of the world shifting around you faster than you can hold on.

“It’s a good thing,” she smiles, her face soft and open in a way that it almost never is. “A really good thing. We’re all really happy for both of you.”

Steve must nod, must acknowledge her somehow, because she touches his arm again and then heads inside. Steve can see her plop down on the couch next to Clint and lean over to steal his beer.

 

 

**December 22**

 

It’s way past midnight when they finally get back to the apartment. Steve feels merry and light and it’s almost like being drunk. He’s got Bucky pressed to his side, their polar bears still kissing, and Bucky’s laughing at something Clint said in the elevator, his breath hot and sweet against Steve’s cheek.

It’s so easy, _too easy_ , to spin them around in the dark hallway and pull Bucky into a kiss. Bucky, who clings to Steve’s shoulders and kisses him with so much enthusiasm that he pushes them both into a wall. Steve’s pretty sure they make a dent in the plasterboard.

They move through the dark apartment in a tuneless dance, back and forth, spinning each other in circles, kissing and shedding clothing as they go. It’s just so easy, just like a dance he suddenly knows the steps to, like a revelation. Bucky’s skin is hot and smooth under his hands, Bucky’s body pushing him backward towards the bedroom, _their_ bedroom, Steve thinks giddily, not letting anything break the spell of the evening.

Bucky gets him through the door and shoves Steve’s jeans down before pushing him onto the bed. He falls, bouncing on the mattress and among the covers, while Bucky, finally having shed his own pair of pants, crawls all over him and they kiss and kiss and kiss.

Steve gets his hands on Bucky’s ass, a nice thick handful, and Bucky grinds against him and sighs “yeah.” Their cocks sliding against each other through their underwear. Steve’s so hard he’s aching with it, making a wet spot in his underwear where the tip is rubbing into the fabric. He wonders if Bucky can feel it; he _wants_ Bucky to feel it. Know and see his desire.

Bucky just spreads his legs wider, pushing his ass back up into Steve’s hands. It feels filthy and wonderful to slide his fingers under the waistband of Bucky’s briefs and slip a finger into the hot cleft of Bucky’s ass and feel the tight, fleshy knot of his hole.

“You want it?” Steve whispers, sliding his fingers back and forth, feeling the muscle contracting.

“Yeah, fuck, Steve –,” Bucky pants. “Put it in me.”

“Fuck yeah,” Steve agrees into Bucky’s mouth, and pushes a fingertip inside. Bucky feels hot and tight and he lets out needy little noises against Steve’s lips, rocking back into it like he’s trying for more.

“I’ve got –,” Steve tries. “I’ve got lube.”

They both scramble to the bedside table and Steve pulls the half-empty tube out and throws it on the bed while Bucky’s tearing off his briefs. Quite literally, as Steve does hear a tear of fabric, and then Bucky’s rolling onto his stomach and spreading his legs, pushing his ass up in a clear invitation.

Steve’s mouth goes dry and his breath’s coming in short, little pants, and he can’t help but lean in and kiss the divot of Bucky’s tailbone, the root of his spine and the lovely round flesh of his buttcheek. He clicks open the lube and pours way too much over his fingers. It’s slick and messy, but he doesn't care, sliding his wet fingers up and down Bucky’s crack, getting him wet and messy too.

He presses his thumb inside Bucky’s hole, tugging gently on the rim, teasing him. Bucky moans into the pillows, spreading his legs even wider until Steve has the perfect view of him. Slick and wet and stretched open by Steve’s finger. He slides his hand under Bucky’s belly and feels his cock, teases the tip, pulling back the foreskin to tease the head and the weeping slit.

Steve gets two fingers into him, builds a slow steady rhythm working over his prostate until Bucky’s frustration wins out, and he flops over to his back, twisting like an eel. Steve shuffles on the bed to lean over him, kissing his bitten-red lips, and Bucky moans into his mouth, pulling up his knees to brace against Steve’s shoulders. His cock is _right there,_ right between Bucky’s legs, getting all slippery wet too from the excess lube.

“Come on,” Bucky chants. “Get it in me.”

Steve guides his cock with his hand, wrapping his other arm around Bucky’s back, holding them close as they can get as he pushes in. It’s tight and hot and wet and Bucky lets out the most obscene noises as Steve bottoms out. He tries to keep it slow and gentle at first, holding on to Bucky’s waist and kissing his lips and cheeks and the tip of his nose.

He’s so in love, he’s been in love his whole life, and he wants Bucky to feel it, to know it, even if he can’t ever say anything at all.

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” Bucky’s saying against his lips, his feet pressing into Steve’s sides and his hands greedily pulling and pushing on Steve’s ass, setting him into a rhythm of Bucky’s liking. Showing Steve just the right angle to make him grunt and twist in pleasure while Steve fucks him.

Steve holds off just to feel Bucky clenching around him, to feel the wet spurts of his come between their bellies before he’s coming too, thrusting hard and fast until he’s buried so deep he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to pull out.

They lie there for a long time, pressed together and slick with sweat and come and Steve still buried inside Bucky’s body. Eventually they have to move, and Bucky sloppily cleans them up with a t-shirt before pulling Steve against him. Falling asleep, his face pressed into Steve’s chest and leg thrown over his hip, like he wants to make sure Steve can’t leave.

They wake up in the early hours of the morning and fuck again, Bucky sitting on Steve’s lap so they don’t have to stop kissing for even a moment.

 

 

**December 23**

 

Neither one of them bothers to get out of bed for anything more than snacks, drinks, and more pillows. It is, after all, a Sunday.

 

 

**December 24**

 

Tony sends everyone a group text about the New Year’s party and fireworks. There’s an itinerary and dress code and menu attached. Steve watches as Bucky reads it with a frown, and then puts his phone down on the table screenside down.

He doesn’t say anything over rest of the lunch and Steve tries to work out what’s wrong. He thinks that maybe it’s the fireworks, the bright lights, and loud noises, and he’s already making plans for a movie night in the den for them when Bucky finally speaks.

“Do we have to stop?” he asks quietly. “Do we have to stop pretending?”

“What?” is all Steve can say, his heart suddenly in his throat.

He’d almost forgotten in the last day, forgotten that it’s not real. Just a ruse, a lie, a pretend. It’d been real for him, the kisses, the closeness, Bucky’s smell and feel and taste. It’d all been so real for him.

“Are we going to stop pretending?” Bucky asks again, and now his voice is barely more than a whisper and Steve makes a choice.

“We could,” he says, drawing in a breath. “We could stop pretending.”

He sees Bucky go still and tense across the table. His hand squeezing into a fist next to his plate, and he won’t look at Steve, won’t meet his eyes, not until Steve says, “we could stop pretending because it’s real.”

Bucky’s head jerks up to look at him. “It is?”

Steve nods, for the first time absolutely sure of himself, strong and loud as he says, “yeah, Buck. It is for me.”

“Me too,” Bucky whispers, like he still doesn’t want Jarvis overhearing, but there’s a smile spreading on his face that he can’t seem to contain even if someone is watching.

 

 

**December 25**

 

There’s presents under the tree and breakfast set up in the common room. Everyone wanders in more or less in their pajamas and helps themselves to mimosas and smoked salmon bagels to start.

There’s coffee and eggs and croissants and bacon. There’s pancakes and sausages and several varieties of potatoes. There’s pastries and sweet cakes and beautifully sliced fruit

Bucky’s pressed tight to Steve’s side on the couch while he sips his coffee and they watch everyone picking and opening the presents one by one. The Yankee swaps briefly descends in chaos as Clint and Tony keep stealing a set of galaxy-themed water glasses from each other at every turn.

Eventually Natasha motions for Steve to come and pick a present, but he just shakes his head. Bucky’s fallen back asleep, his head heavy on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve’s got all the present he needs for the next century and a half right there next to him.

Natasha just smiles at him across the distance, bright and genuine, and then she turns and picks up another present from under the tree tearing the wrapping paper open.

Steve closes his eyes and listens to the sounds around him. Laughter and good-natured arguments over gifts, the clinking of glasses and silverware and Wanda’s glee over a pair of mismatched socks, and Bucky’s gentle breathing, and steady beat of his heart, pressed to Steve’s side where he belongs.

 


End file.
